Hungry in the Morning

The insistent chirping of the robins outside Amelia's window was usually a welcome serenade, but this morning, it grated on her nerves. It was more than just the insistent chirping; it was a symphony of hunger pangs, a chorus of rumbling in her stomach that drowned out everything else. Amelia sat up, blinking away the remnants of sleep, and the emptiness in her stomach roared.

She hadn't eaten dinner the night before. Work had been a whirlwind, a relentless tide of deadlines and meetings that had swallowed her whole. By the time she stumbled home, exhausted and frazzled, the thought of cooking seemed like another summit to climb on Mount Everfood. Now, the consequences were upon her.

The world outside her window was bathed in the soft glow of dawn. It was too early for breakfast at her usual café, too early for her neighbor Mrs. Rodriguez's legendary blueberry muffins (a secret Amelia desperately craved). Hunger gnawed at her like a persistent rodent, making even the thought of getting dressed seem daunting.

With a sigh, Amelia dragged herself out of bed. The bathroom mirror reflected a pale face with dark circles under her eyes. Her hair, normally vibrant dark brown, hung limply around her shoulders. This wasn't just hunger; it was exhaustion, a fatigue that went beyond the missed dinner. The last few months had been relentless, a constant push to keep up with her demanding job and the ever-mounting bills.

The fridge mocked her when she opened it. A half-empty bottle of salsa, a wilting carton of spinach, and a forlorn jar of pickled onions didn't exactly inspire culinary confidence. Amelia's stomach gurgled its disapproval. Maybe some coffee? But even the thought of black coffee made her wince. She needed something substantial, something to silence the growing mutiny in her belly.

Desperate, she rummaged through the pantry. A forgotten bag of popcorn kernels at the back offered a glimmer of hope. Popping popcorn wouldn't win any culinary awards, but it was something, a small victory in the battle against hunger. As the popcorn kernels danced a jig in the pot, a warm memory surfaced.

Years ago, during a particularly rough patch in college, Amelia and her best friend, Maya, had faced a similar predicament. Their cupboards were bare, their wallets empty. So, they had raided the vending machine in the dorm lobby, emerging with a questionable assortment of candy bars and a jumbo bag of popcorn kernels. They spent the night huddled on the floor, watching cheesy movies and giggling as they devoured the salty, buttery popcorn. Laughter, it seemed, could be a potent substitute for a balanced meal.

A smile tugged at Amelia's lips as the first kernel popped, a tiny explosion of defiance. As she filled a bowl with the fluffy white kernels, she allowed herself to be flooded by the warmth of the memory. Maybe this wasn't just about the physical need for food; maybe it was about finding joy in the small things, a reminder of resilience and the power of friendship.

Fueled by the memory and the crunchy popcorn, Amelia decided to tackle the day. Work might be a monster, the bills might loom, but she wouldn't face them on an empty stomach. She showered, the hot water chasing away some of the fatigue. As she dressed, she made a mental note to pick up some groceries on her way home. Maybe tonight, she'd cook. Maybe tonight, she'd call Maya and reminisce about popcorn nights and bad decisions.

By the time she reached the café, her stomach was no longer a war zone but a rumbling truce. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries was an intoxicating welcome. She ordered a hearty breakfast, complete with scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and a slice of fluffy blueberry pancakes. As she savored the first bite, a sense of calm settled over her.

The day at work was challenging, as expected, but Amelia met it with renewed determination. She tackled deadlines with a focus fueled by breakfast and a sprinkle of nostalgia. By the end of the day, a sense of accomplishment nestled beside the satiated feeling in her stomach.

On her way home, she stopped at the grocery store. Her basket overflowed with fresh produce, a package of chicken for a planned dinner, and, most importantly, a bag of popcorn kernels. Tonight, it wouldn't be a desperate measure but a celebration – a celebration of resilience, of friendship, and the quiet victories found in the most unexpected places, like a bowl of popcorn shared with a friend and the robin's morning song. The memory, like the popcorn, was something to nourish not just the body but also the soul. As she left the store, the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, a reminder that even the hungriest mornings could lead to hopeful evenings.

*Tegal Jawa Tengah Indonesia 03/05/2024